Meuric (24 page)

XXXIV

I am with you, Meuric
, sounded the voice of Radha from within the Daw'ra warrior's mind.

The former Knight Protector frowned momentarily, distracted by her voice, though he fought hard not to show any change in his demeanour. This was what he did. He knew that he was going into battle. Where most would now be fuelled by adrenalin he was the opposite. A coldness would settle into him, almost as if he was devoid of any emotion. He waited patiently, anticipating the moment when they would either speak or fight. Moments passed and nothing happened. He looked at each of the men before him.

The three younger warriors were wide eyed and eager. It was the old man who kept them in check, simply by his sheer presence. He seemed calm, almost amused by the scene.

I need to know what they are thinking, Radha
, said Meuric silently.
Look through my eyes. See what I see. Do the old man first.

His name is Thales
. The name floated around Meuric's mind like a ship on a great sea.
Thales of E'del
, whispered Radha, her voice sounding like a distant echo.

The name was familiar to the warrior though he had never had cause to meet him. Only the most secretive of contractors spoke of Thales the hireling, so great a guarded secret was his identity. It was reported that he was an honourable man, purely professional in hireling circles. He was someone who would refuse to do certain jobs that would reflect badly on him and his character.

Thales is distracted. He is thinking of home
, continued Radha.
He is an old man and knows he has only so long left to live. He is wondering about the safety of his daughter when he is gone. She is getting married in a short time. Meuric, her betrothed is Knight Protector Iason. He loves him like a son.

Damn.

What of the other three
? asked Meuric.

A moment's silence followed by Radha saying,
They are men of the Dark Druid. They are tasked to kill you and then Thales.

“Thales of E'del,” began Meuric aloud. He gazed coldly at all the men. “I am Meuric of the Daw'ra.”

Meuric could feel their fear and excitement. All reacted to him speaking except for the E'del hireling. He continued to lean lazily on one of the curvatures of his four-horned saddle. Thales offered a wry smile though his eyes were vacant of any humour.

“So much for the element of surprise,” he muttered, his tirade mostly directed at his companions. “You'd think I should know better at my age.”

Meuric smiled coldly. “I am no ordinary prey.”

The three Dark Druid soldiers shifted uncomfortably in their saddles. Tension was building. The E'del hireling looked to the man next to him.

“Gavriil, control your men,” he hissed.

“Then do something, old man,” whispered the younger rider harshly under his breath, “or I will.”

Unhurriedly, Thales shifted in his saddle, attempting to seem as unthreatening as possible. The whole time Meuric could see that he was scanning the area with his hawk-like eyes. He was weighing up his options with his many years of experience behind him. Meuric considered the question of what to do. The men before him were his enemy, no matter who they were connected with, and yet Iason was not just a Knight Protector but a friend. He had so few of them in the world these days.

“Thales, before we begin you should know that these men next to you have orders to kill you upon my death,” began Meuric.

“Nonsense,” screeched Gavriil. His voice screeched in a bluster. “How could he possibly know that? He is attempting to distract you, Thales.”

The E'del man nodded. “I expected as much. I was prepared for that eventuality.”

The three men belonging to the Dark Druid looked to one another, unsure what to do next. Was he talking to them or the warrior before them? The hireling continued to stare unwaveringly at Meuric. His gaze was like iron.

“Naturally I have heard of you. We are mentioned in the same circles. I had thought more of you, Meuric. I did not believe that I would find you begging for your life.”

Meuric shook his head. “I am begging for yours. Iason is an old friend.”

Though his face remained impassive, the Daw'ra man could see Thales's eyes waver. “How is that possible? He is a simple merchant; a man of limited courage. I do not believe that he has even ever left E'del.”

Meuric continued to stare at the hireling. He hoped that the E'del man would believe him. “No, Thales, Iason and I are the same.”

The E'del hireling remained silent for some moments. Slowly he sat up straight and casually drew the sword at his waist. Without any haste he untied his small round shield and slid his arm through the straps at its rear. On seeing what he was doing the three soldiers of the Dark Druid followed suit and at the same pace. One man, directly to the rear of Thales, loaded a small crossbow.

Thales said, “Son, I have taken a vow to complete this contract. I have already been paid. I do not know if what you say is the truth but I cannot go back on my word.”

“So be it,” muttered Meuric coldly.

There would be no mercy.

XXXV

“Chieftain Theirn, come here please,” ordered Tacitus. He looked up to the sky noting that the sun was now past the midday mark. “The day grows long and I have many other tasks to complete.”

The leader of Rabi'a turned at the mention of his name and saw Tacitus waving him over only a short distance away. Without any comment Theirn immediately moved towards him, resentful that he was summoned like a dog. Bradán could not help but notice how uncomfortable he looked as he walked, though he tried hard to disguise it. Rainier and Bradán quietly fell in step behind him, the Captain of the Druid Legion coming last.

Bradán looked on closely. Tacitus was laughing and joking loudly in a pompous fashion with the Roz'eli officers, as if he was having an informal gathering with his men. His back was to them. The Druid Captain noticed that Quirinus kept a slight distance from them, only talking when he must. It seemed to Bradán that the senator was making a point by the way he was acting, marking himself and his ilk as the undisputable rulers in this land. The senator turned suddenly at the sound of Theirn's last few steps. Behind Rainier Bradán stopped suddenly. With hand on sword he scanned the area for any possible dangers.

“It is unfortunate that your barbarian birth forbade you becoming a member of the Emperor's Personal Guard,” commented Tacitus, addressing the War Band Commander. “I remember now how the Emperor, during banquets and so forth, still spoke of how you saved his son.” He waved his hand carelessly. He sneered as he quoted.

“‘Rainier was his name,' he would say. ‘He was part of a small Free Archer unit attached to a Second Spear. My son had been kidnapped and held to ransom in Gahp'ryel. Their mission was the reconnaissance of a specified area to confirm the town in which he was held. The Gahp'ryel tribes had been waiting for them. Almost to a man they were wiped out. Instead of turning though, Rainier continued on with the mission with only a handful of others and they were successful. That was a great day for me and Roz'eli. I shall be forever in his debt.'”

“It was largely down to luck,” stated Rainier flatly.

It was obvious to Bradán that he did not want to talk about the incident, though he himself was interested to hear more.

“I have no doubt that chance played some part,” offered Tacitus with a smile that reminded the Druid Captain once again of a snake. “All good warriors need a certain amount of luck. Is that not right, Bradán?” The soldier from I'soolt said nothing but simply offered one single nod. He himself did not want to talk to the senator any more than necessary. “I think though that it was a small part.

“I understand that later your sons, acting as scouts, led a contingent of Men-of-the-Legion to find you held up in a cave when you were a State Guard, fending off rebel attacks practically single-handed, even though you had been wounded several times. I see that your scar on your face never completely healed. I am not surprised,” laughed Tacitus. “They said that your tongue was hanging out of the side of your face through a gape in your cheek.” Rainier's face darkened.

“Speaking of sons, where are they now, Rainier?” Tacitus looked around as if making a point. “I haven't seen Wyeth and Xavier since they met with us just outside Kay'den and escorted us here.”

Rainier nodded. “Wyeth is out on what we call a roaming patrol. It gives him the freedom to come …”

Tacitus cut him off mid-sentence. “I know what a roaming patrol is, War Band Commander,” he snapped.

Rainier nodded. He kept his face impassive though his eyes flared in anger. “He is not likely to be back until nightfall. The Great Wood can become too dangerous even for us then. Xavier's orders were to return to Kay'den to follow up on the fugitives' movements.”

Tacitus's eyes narrowed. “Why would you do this?”

“To gather intelligence on the Jay'keb family,” answered Theirn immediately stepping forward. “Such as companions and friends, where they went and what route they took. Maybe even find out what or where they were planning next so that it may help you in some way. Maybe help you to find further accomplices?”

“I assume that was before you decided to hide the Jay'keb bastards from us,” accused Tacitus. “Such things are punishable by death.”

Bradán's heart began to hammer in his chest. It was only a matter of time now before Rainier, Theirn and his people knew of what the senator had ordered in Kay'den. It was Ah'mos all over again, only this time it was
true Roz'eli Men-of-the-Legion who committed the atrocities. They will know that such a terrible thing would surely not have been authorised by the Emperor. Quirinus would confirm that for them. Everything in the region of Nan'cho could only happen with his authority. And after the business here is concluded Bradán knew that the same will occur again. His heart felt sick.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of a woman screaming. From the main doors of the Travelers' Inn, several Roz'eli troops were roughly leading a group of several people, nine adults and one child, outside. Gone were the light trappings the Jay'keb family wore at Ah'mos. Now their clothes were replaced by heavier clothing for a cooler climate. Roz'eli swords had been drawn and arrows were set against bowstrings by the accompanying cavalrymen. Roughly they were pushed up against the wall of the building before them.

There were more warriors now aligned with them, which surprised Bradán. He wondered when they had the time to recruit a further six hirelings. Each was dressed as a Kel'akh warrior, but with hoods attached to their tunics and pulled up over their heads it was hard to tell from where they originated. Just then they were ordered to remove them and they complied without any fuss. The Druid Captain frowned. They obviously ranged from different nationalities and not from these parts. They were attempting to fit in with the populace but they did not look like typical hirelings.

To begin with there was no pleading for their services. All hirelings only worked for the highest bidder, and owed loyalty to no one. Thales seemed to be the only exception to that rule. He also noticed how they subtly looked about, acquiring their targets. Their bodies were tense as if readying themselves for that moment. They were going to attack, realised Bradán, even though they were weaponless and outnumbered. Incredible! His respect for these new warriors rose. What are you doing, he chastised himself. You should be warning Tacitus. They are the enemy.

Are they?

Bradán looked about. It was definitely the same woman he had heard back in Ah'mos. She sounded so close that she seemed to be whispering directly into his ear. He knew now that he was the only one who had heard it.

“Yes,” he answered but there was no response.

“Problems?” asked Tacitus, staring hard at the Druid Captain.

Bradán looked at him, then at the Roz'eli firing squad just beyond preparing their bows. He stared squarely into the senator's tawny eyes. Even if he wanted to there was nothing he could do for these people. They had no chance.

“No problems, my Lord.”

One of the women, a plump middle-aged woman, fell to the ground crying and pleading for her life, her courage having all but left her. Immediately one of the soldiers viciously kicked her in her ribs, lifted her roughly by her long dark hair and squarely punched her hard in her face. Blood sprayed from her nose. Bradán took a step forward to intervene but held himself back.

“Hold, legionnaire,” commanded Tacitus.

That surprised Bradán until he looked at the senator. He was smiling at the woman's pain. The Jay'keb lady fell to the floor again. The Druid Captain found the Rabi'a people gathering around them. They, along with Quirinus, were looking on in disgust. The War Band, under the command of Ysolt, began to order the crowd back. Several persons in the mob began to shout at Rainier and Theirn asking them to stop the killings from happening. But there was nothing they could do. He glanced at Tacitus who seemed to be smiling at the unfolding events. Bradán looked on as a broad black man, belonging to the retinue, knelt by the fallen woman and gently helped her to her feet. Bradán recognised him from Ah'mos.

“Be strong, Zahara,” he said in a deep soothing voice as he placed his large arms around her. “It will be over soon.”

“Thank you, Anan,” responded the woman through her painful, racking sobs. She buried her face into his chest.

The boy Abram stepped over to the woman. He whispered into the ear of Zahara and then touched her face and ribs where she had been kicked. Bradán looked on in amazement as the blood and bruising vanished. She seemed to stand taller as if she no longer suffered with any pain. Gasps of amazement rose from the Rabi'a people.

“He is a child of the gods,” the Druid Captain heard someone exclaim.

Tacitus spun. There was fear in his eyes. Bradán also saw desperation and fury there. He was at a loss to explain why. He noted that the Rabi'a people were now looking at the Roz'eli and those associated with them in anger. The Druid Captain continued to look on in silence.

Zahara was now standing unaided. Her eyes scanned the waiting archers before her, staring at each of them in turn, not missing any of them. She is probably memorising each of their faces so she can meet them in the Otherworld, with blade and fire at the ready, decided Bradán with a grim smile. Her eyes drifted to Tacitus and the woman openly shuddered. Finally her eyes rested upon Bradán and there they stayed. The Druid Captain was curious. She seemed to be waiting, wondering, imploring that he do something. But what could he do?

Rainier whispered into his ear, “Do you know her?”

Bradán shook his head. “I do not.”

He could not even recall her from Ah'mos.

It was then that he noticed that she was looking over his shoulder. He turned but found no one there. Tacitus called out to the soldiers who had brought the prisoners. As they approached him, Bradán watched how the senator tucked his arms into the sleeves of his toga. His eyes narrowed. The soldiers stood to attention in a line before him and saluted.

“Did any of you speak to the boy?” he asked.

One man in the centre nodded. “I only told him that he must come with me. He did not reply or offer resistance. None of them did.”

Tacitus looked at him intently. “Is that all?”

The soldier nodded. “Yes, my Lord,” he said quietly. Tacitus was about to turn away when the soldier asked, “Excuse me, my Lord, but is it necessary to kill them?”

In an instant Tacitus spun and drew a dagger from beneath the sleeve of his toga. Bradán was stunned. The speed at which the senator had moved was unprecedented. In less than a heartbeat he had thrust the blade up and under the man's chin and through the soldier's chinstrap. The knife's black blade was quite long and it easily penetrated the young soldier's brain and up through his helm.

The victim's face froze in a state of shock as his lower jaw dropped down revealing the blade beyond. Tacitus stared at the knife blade in mild fascination, turning the soldier's head a little to the left and to the right before, with a sudden twist, withdrawing the weapon. The soldier immediately crumpled to the floor. Casually Tacitus knelt down and wiped the dagger clean on the dead man's brown tunic. He stood slowly and turned to face both Theirn and Rainier.

“He was corrupted by the boy's evil,” he muttered. His eyes were like ice. “See that it does not happen to you.”

The crowd immediately went silent. Bradán could not help but notice that the Chieftain looked decidedly nervous but Rainier just stared unflinching at the Roz'eli senator. The speed, precision and strength to hold up a dead man with one arm and for some moments made them all take stock. A statesman and commander of the General Agents Tacitus may be but he finally had shown himself to be something else. As the senator moved to take his position next to the archers, Bradán stood closer to his own men.

Directly in the centre of the row stood the boy Abram. His face was a picture of tranquillity and innocence. Bradán looked hard at him, wondering why he posed such a danger to the wicce, and lover to his master, Mailís. He had no doubt that it was she who had ordered the death of Abram behind the back of the Dark Druid. He had known for some time that she feared the Jay'keb boy. His Lord and Master had wanted the boy captured first for his own agenda. Yes the boy was someone of magick but the power that the Dark Druid embodied was so much more. Next to Abram stood his mother. Their resemblance was remarkable.

He found Rainier staring at the woman with open amazement, his very breath held in anticipation. It was the same when he had first set eyes on Corliss. Thinking of her made his heart sink even lower. Perhaps Rainier was luckier this way? He could never miss what he had never had.

Bradán's eyes were drawn to Anan. His skin was the colour of ebony. He seemed middle-aged and totally bald but for a grey beard. His arms and chest were powerful still and Bradán spotted the criss-crossed scars that ran across the exposed parts of his body. The Druid Captain guessed that the man was a warrior of some bearing in his younger days; maybe he was even something more. Standing in serene silence, knowing that he was about to die, there seemed to be some sort of regal quality that lingered over him like a cloak.

“Make sure that no one approaches them before they are all dead,” commanded Tacitus, “for fear that they too may become corrupted.” Urbanus, repeated the order to his men.

“You will not get the chance to hurt us,” whispered Abram suddenly.

The words were said so softly they were barely audible, yet they carried to the ears of every person watching. Bradán shivered feeling the power of his declaration. This was no ordinary boy indeed.

“We shall see,” responded Tacitus in defiance. “Ready your bows!” The senator looked towards the child. “With your death nothing can stop my mistress.”

The Roz'eli cohort drew back their bows.